


Pepparkakor

by momothesweet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Baking, Confessions, F/F, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothesweet
Summary: Baking is supposed to be an activity with the girl you're really into, not your nosy cowboy best friend. What's holding you back?





	Pepparkakor

**Author's Note:**

> CUTE SHIT AHEAD
> 
> I really wanted to do some f/f because there's like.......nothing around lmao
> 
> I love Brigitte! I know the lore is a mess so let's just assume she's in Overwatch at her canon age (23) and doing great things
> 
> Enjoy!

“Jesse, this isn’t going to work.”

“The hell you talkin’ about? Of course it’s gonna work!”

You both stare through the oven window at what’s supposed to look like a pie, if a pie had brown-black crust and almost no filling. Groaning, you turn away from the oven and drop your head onto the counter, defeated. For weeks, you’ve been trying your best to bake something to impress the hottest mechanic in Overwatch. Small conversations and dumb jokes can only do so much to show how much you like her. Thanks to some tips from her Captain Amari and Angela in the med bay, you’re motivated to get your hands in the kitchen and win her heart through her stomach.

Unsurprisingly, it’s taking a lot more effort than planned. Your kitchen skills are far from that of those star bakers on that show you and Brigitte binge watch during downtime. If you were ever a contestant, you’d be the first to go home because you put a cup of salt in your cookies instead of sugar. Jesse is no better. You know he opens up the oven when you smell nothing but burnt failure.

“It’s...not that bad,” he says.

“Give it up,” you groan, burying your face into your flour-dusted hands. “It’s gone to shit. She’s gonna hate me and I’m going to be alone forever.”

“Haven’t you been on somethin’ like ten dates with her? That’s girlfriend status, ain’t it?”

You whip your head around to face Jesse, bewildered that he’d say such a thing as if he knows your love life more than he knows his own. “What? No! Not like a  _ date _ date, you know?”

“So comin’ over to her room every weekend to watch TV ain’t a date?”

You shrug. “That’s just our hangout thing?”

“What about that time you both snuck out of the base to buy tequila?”

“We wanted to know if the Dorado stuff was good!”

“And that other time you snuck out to ride a gondola in Venice?”

“Hey, that man had a beautiful voice and we wanted to hear more.”

Jesse snorts, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. He’s got flour all over himself, too. “Jesus, girl. And Reyes thinks  _ I’m _ the idiot around here.”

“Hey!” You fling some leftover pie crust towards him. He dodges it. You hate that he has a point; you’ve been spending a great deal of your free time with Brigitte and nothing has screamed out at you that you’re into each other, except for the fact that _ everything _ has been screaming at you in particular. In the ear. Relentlessly. For the last few months.

“I was surprised you asked me to come down here,” Jesse adds. “Shouldn’t you be doin’ this with her instead?”

This time, you grab the kitchen towel draped over your shoulder and snap it at his side. “Just shut up and help me clean this kitchen. If Captain Amari sees this mess, we’re dead.”

“At least I won’t die a virgin.”

You huff. “Yeah, you’ll die a dumb virgin instead.”

He throws pie crust back at you.

 

You don’t return to the kitchen after nearly destroying the communal oven. Over the next few days, you simply get back to your training, spending time at the shooting range and practicing hand-to-hand combat with some of the other members of Overwatch. Brigitte and her father are busy perfecting their tools in their respective labs, which is to be expected. You and she hardly have the time to see each other during the week; even your lunchtimes are out of whack. Weekends are always the best when you can simply forget about the gunpowder for a second and focus on having fun. Though, when there’s a sudden blackout at the shooting range and your fake gun starts to malfunction, you get the opportunity on a whim to see her at work.

You lean on the paneling of your booth like some kind of cool person when Brigitte walks in, giant toolbox in hand and muscles flexing in a tank top you very, very much enjoy. Some other cadets have simply left the range to allow her to do the work, but you stick around to say hi. You know, like someone who wants to make a move.

Before you’re able to say anything, Brigitte sees you first and beams, setting her toolbox down and skipping over to throw her arms around you in a tight hug. The woman is might strong and you can die with how she constricts your body and it will absolutely be worth it. You giggle with her and step back, trying not to look so winded.

“Hey!” she greets. “What’d you do, shoot the fuse box?”

You laugh and wiggle your fake gun in your hand, specially designed to function like some video game controller but have the feel of the real thing. “I’m not  _ that _ bad of a shot. Pretty sure I can outshoot some of these show-offs here.”

“Ooh, aren’t you cocky.” Brigitte’s smile cures your anxiety for a millisecond, then she moves to pop open some control system hidden behind a wall. 

You’re quiet so you don’t interrupt her work, admiring her tinkering skills that rival every man who’s walked onto this base. It’s in that time that you wish you had more courage to say something and less naivety to figure what’s really going on between the two of you. Maybe you really are an idiot.

A moment of deep thought and you hear Brigitte call your name. “Yoo-hoo! Are you there?”

You shake off whatever you’re thinking and nod. “Sorry. Spacing out.”

Brigitte stands and replaces the panel on the wall while the shooting range reboots and whirs back to life. The fake gun vibrates on the counter behind you. “You seem to be doing that a lot lately,” she says, a little worried. “Are you okay?”

You nod quickly. “Yeah! I mean, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

“Like what?”

The words are right there and you keep them suppressed in your throat. “Um,” you stammer, looking for something to hold that isn’t a gun or some weapon, “I’ve been...learning how to bake?”

Just like that, Brigitte bounces and she takes your hands to pull hard. You yelp, laughing nervously, “We can try baking stuff together?”

She nods excitedly. “I’d love to! Papa and Reinhardt have been talking a lot about these cookies we used to have all the time at home. We can make some for them!”

Cookies sound much more doable than a pie with multiple components and fillings and nuances. You definitely should have tried that out first and you definitely should have tried it with her instead of your cowboy co-worker. “Sounds like a great idea. Wanna take over the kitchen on Friday night?”

“Mhm! Come by the shop when you’re done with your training! I’m still working on better armor for McCree.”

“Hah. Good luck with giving him anything other than a bulletproof stetson.”

Brigitte huffs, folding her arms like she’s really trying to kill you with her flexing. “He’s gonna wear it on our next mission, like it or not!”

You love her determination. “I’d love to witness that with you. See you Friday?”

She nods. You wave goodbye to her and expect to see her off. However, in a wildly unexpected turn of events, she leans in and kisses your cheek. You’re suddenly aflame and lifeless, shot in the head and heart when she giggles and skips off with her toolbox as if she were carrying a teddy bear.

You refuse to tell yourself that Jesse was right.

 

Friday comes quickly and you receive the cookie recipe via text. Swedish ginger snaps look easy enough if it just means dumping and mixing everything and waiting in different instances. You’re in charge of grabbing any ingredients that aren’t in the kitchen, so after your little trip to the store outside the base, you come back to the metal shop where you find the Lindholm pair hard at work. Timidly, you step inside, curiously watching Brigitte bang her fist against Jesse’s abdomen in the middle of the room. He doesn’t budge, but he sure looks uncomfortable judging by the face he’s making.

“Hey now, I ain’t about to see Angela because your armor is faulty.”

“Oh, shut yer trap, McCree!” Torbjörn shouts from one corner where a line of turrets decorates his side of the shop like a showroom. “Give her a chance.”

Brigitte steps back some and you watch from the entrance. It’s rare you get to see her in action; she’s often paired with Reinhardt while you sneak around the environment and knock enemies out that way. The flail she wields is an intimidating piece of work; you can see Jesse visibly swallow when she holds it up and takes a swing right for his midsection.

It looks like she goes all out and it’s incredible—the way she steps back and pivots so effortlessly, so powerfully. Even so, Jesse only loses his balance for a second, then stabilizes. Looking down, he pats the armor under his shirt and gives her a thumbs up. “I’ll be damned. That ain’t half-bad.”

“See? It’s bulletproof, too!” Brigitte exclaims. “I used more weightless material so you don’t feel like Reinhardt with all his armor.”

Jesse chatters a little more about having her make a few more adjustments before his next mission with Blackwatch. That’s your cue to head further into the workshop, cutting into whatever he’s rambling on about Reyes and the team. He looks at you expectantly. “Aw, look who decided to show up.”

You say hi to Torbjörn first before attempting to kick Jesse in the shin. “I showed up because you were gonna keep Brigitte in here the entire night.”

Brigitte laughs and removes the armor from him. “Don’t be jealous! I already told him about how we’re going to make pepparkakor.”

“I thought you were making cookies,” he says.

“They  _ are _ cookies,” you say. “Which means you’re barred from the kitchen until they’re done.”

Jesse snickers. “Yes ma’am. Don’t want to be interupptin’ your date and all.”

You glare at him as he tips his hat and leaves through another exit of the shop. Brigitte takes your hand and quickly drags you out upon saying goodbye to her father. With all this talk about dates and that cute little kiss she gave you the other day, you knock your brain into submission, letting it know that you need to pull it together and allow yourself to enjoy the time with her. You’re in Overwatch, dammit, and you need to face your fears head-on like you do with any enemy.

Except that Brigitte is no enemy. Not by one bit.

 

You could watch Brigitte mix dough for days. With her hair tied back and her arms at work, you can barely keep it together while you open up drawers to look for some cookie cutters. Other cadets and officers swing by the kitchen to heat up or grab their food from the fridge. A few greetings here and there, plus the help of a commander to find a heart-shaped cookie cutter, and you both have finally made some good-looking dough that needs to rest for a while.

“It already smells like Christmas,” Brigitte muses once she shuts the fridge.

You clap away some of the excess flour from your hands and smile. “Does that make you a gift to the world?”

She blushes and taps your nose with her own flour-dusted fingers, saying your name with a giggle. “You’re so sweet!”

“Stop,” you say, waving away the compliment. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two as you clean up the kitchen. While the dough sits in the fridge, you clear the counters of any mess and start to clean up some of the dishes. Working alongside Brigitte, you scrub and she rinses. The sink is big enough to handle a bunch of baking equipment. You’re also a good enough person to handle this conversation if it may go wrong.

“Hey, Brig,” you say softly. “Do you...Are we...dating?”

Brigitte holds a bowl still in her hands, letting the water overflow when she turns to look at you. She trumps you in height and build, an impressive woman on all fronts and you go still with anticipation. “Is that what you want to call it?”

You pause. The moment passes and you push through every anxious barrier in your head to nod. “Yeah,” you stammer. “I...really like you. And I really like it when we spend time together. And I feel like an idiot for not saying anything before.”

Upon dumping all the water out from the bowl, she laughs. “Jesse called me an idiot for not asking you to be my girlfriend already. So I guess we’re both at fault.”

Of course Jesse’s talked to Brigitte, too. He’s a good friend, after all, despite his nonsense, and you’ll be sure to thank him later for actually being helpful. You laugh with her and finish the dishes, drying off with a kitchen towel and tossing it over to her. The word “girlfriend” has a nice ring to it. Your girlfriend. Her girlfriend.

“So…” you rock on your heels and toes, “girlfriends?”

She takes your hands and pulls you in flush with her. Up close, she’s so pretty. Hell, from all angles, you love to look at her. You love it even more when she leans in to kiss you, tasting of cinnamon and ginger and all kinds of sweetness. Screw raw cookie dough being a health risk. You can definitely die happy after kissing her.

Pulling back, Brigitte nods. “Girlfriends.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, feedback and gingerbread cookies are greatly appreciated!
> 
> [Tumblr](peachofwork.tumblr.com)


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